Momma's Boys

It only startled me a little bit when, recently, a friend handed Micro back to me with the comment, "He's such a little momma's boy!"

My first instinct was to bristle at the implication, this hockey momma ain't raisin' no sissy boys!  But the tone of her voice told me that she was paying me a compliment.  My secondary thought was confirmed when she immediately followed up with, "It's so obvious how much he loves you.  Look at how he lights up when he sees you.  That's the sweetest thing ever."

I had to think a little on my initial reaction to her comment.  Yes, Micro wants me.  A lot.  It could be that I am a little sensitive about it.  I don't usually get a break from him, and I don't mean leaving him with Geegy to go out for a wild GNO.  I  mean he won't sleep or nap unless I am touching him.  He won't take a binky, preferring to comfort-nurse at will.  He won't settle to sleep for anyone else.  He will go to others, but only for a few minutes.  He wants me, and he wants only me.  So I hold him.  I wear him.  We eat, sleep, play, work, shop, dance, sing, exercise, shower, and occasionally even use the toilet together.  It keeps him calm, and he's happy.  It's tiring, and sometimes aggravating.  Infant Micro is so different than his older two brothers were at that age.  I have to remind myself and Geegy often that we had an unusually EASY time with our first two Minions, and that every baby is different!  Then I go and do something all crazy like, such as leave his line of sight for 10 seconds when I thought he was asleep, and he FLIPS OUT with the crying and yelling!  I sometimes worry that I've spoiled him.  However, he's always been like this, so I'm pretty sure I didn't do it to him.  Sometimes people tell me that I need to teach him to be more independent, that I shouldn't continue to sleep with him, or nurse him when he wakes at night, or even pick him up every time he cries for me.  I try not to think of him as my "difficult" or "needy" baby, but he definitely is deeply attached to his Momma.

I pondered more on the "momma's boy" comment my friend had made while we were on a field trip with Mini's kindergarten class to a fishing lake.  It was Mini's first time fishing, and he was giddy with excitement in anticipation of catching a fish.  About half of his class didn't have a parent there, so each child with a parent was paired up with a child who was without.  Micro caught his fish almost as soon as the bait dropped in the water.  He proudly held it up on the line for a picture, then I helped him remove the hook while he held it's wiggling body firmly in his hands.  "I'm going to call him Squirmy!" he proudly told me as the trout tried to escape his grip.  I told him to hold on tightly and sent him to get Squirmy cleaned (read: gutted) while Micro and I waited with his little kinder-friend to catch his fish.  After another short while Mini's friend and I took his fresh-caught fish over to the cleaning area, where I found Mini sitting on a log, sobbing over a gallon-sized Ziplock bag with a still-twitching trout inside.

Now these were NOT the dramatic fake tears Mini had spent the last school year perfecting, designed to play on my emotions at the drop of a hat, that I had gotten used to.  These were the giant, crocodile, streaks-down-a dusty-face mixed with snot-pouring-out-the-nose tears of devastating and traumatic sadness, complete with gulping, choking, breathless sobs, that made me panic.  Something was terribly, HORRIBLY wrong with my baby!  I plowed over my little kinder-charge trying to get to Mini as fast as I could,  scooped him up in my arms, and held him as close as I could with Micro strapped to my chest.  I let him wet down my shoulder with his weeping goo for a bit, then, after giving him the once over to check for blood, asked him what was wrong.  He held up the bag and said, "Mrs. Ess tried to cut open Squirmy!  I don't want to kill Squirmy!"  Inside the plastic baggie, Squirmy gave a couple of flops as if to agree with his unexpected champion. 

I hugged Mini, and explained that this is what fishing is, that we would take Squirmy home and make some really yummy fish-sticks to share with the family, just like we did when Small came on the same field trip two years ago.  At the mention of eating Squirmy, Mini's eyes grew to the size of a small moon, or maybe a large space station, and the waterworks started flowing again.  "I don't want to eat Squirmy!" he wailed, "I want to keep him as a pet!"  Squirmy gave another twitch, and I could tell he probably thought it a fine idea.  I squished Mini up in a giant hug again, and while smoothing his hair out of his snotty face tried to explain that "fishing" is getting fish to eat, not to get fish for pets, and that we wouldn't have a place to keep a fish like this at our home.  Mini suggested everything he could to convince me to keep Squirmy, from the tiny beta bowl to the leaky koi pond to sharing the bathtub, but I held my ground.  "Sweets," I said firmly, "This is what the fishing trip was for.  We are not taking a pet fish home.  This fish is for eating."

That's when he turned his waterlogged chocolate brown puppy eyes up at me, his lower lip turned down all swollen and quivering, his dirt-smudged cheeks shiny with the new onslaught of fresh tears.  "But," *gulp* "I," *sob* "don't," *snuffle* "want," *snork* "to," *snivel* "kill," *whimper* "anything!"  *GIANT WAIL* "Momma, PLEASE don't make me kill anything!!"

Squirmy twitched in agreement.

My heart broke and melted, and my mind berated me.  Look what you've done to him! it shouted.  I tried not to notice the disapproving glares of the multitude of other parents and their respective kinder-kids milling about, listening to my little Mini beg me not to make him become a fish murderer.  I desperately looked around in hopes that a miraculous solution would present itself, while noting the brightly colored warning signs every ten yards boldly proclaiming that "catch and release" was absolutely not allowed on this lake.  I rebelliously entertained the thought of yelling out "Free Squirmy" while charging up to the side of the lake, knocking over a barricade of park rangers as I dove off the dock with the open bag into the lake, Squirmy's little body flying out of the bag while in mid-air, scales shining in the sun for a beautiful moment before landing in the water and swimming triumphantly away, all while Mini cheererd him on to just keep swimming!

But instead I hugged my son as tight as I could, and promised him that I would never, ever force him kill anything, ever.  I told him that I was proud of him for not wanting to hurt another living being, and that his sweetness, kindness, tenderness and compassion were parts of him that I loved best.  I then told him that we would find a way to help Squirmy, and then guiltily I carried the bag to the nearest spigot and put some water in for the poor nearly doomed fish.  We put the listless Squirmy in the cooler with the rest of the class's gutted and cleaned fish, while sharing an understanding and empathetic look with the teacher. 

Mini, Micro & I spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the lake, counting turtles on logs, looking for frogs in the lily pads, and supposing what kinds of animals lived in the various sized holes we came across as we walked along the shore & trails.  When we stopped for lunch, I sat there on a log with Micro grabbing at my food from the carrier, and Mini cuddled up as close as he comfortably could get, not caring that he had just smeared his applesauce on my jeans or that he had just left a peanut-butter hand print on his brother's leg.  As we sat there eating and laughing, another mom walked by and asked if Mini had gotten over the "fish thing" and was alright now.  I said we were all just fine.  Then she nodded to Micro, winked at me, and said, "I'm sure next time it will be easier for him.  I bet you hope that one grows out of that thing soon!  Maybe he'll be a little stronger and more independent!"  She chuckled at her own cleverness and walked on.

It never occurred to me to think that, despite children being a challenge, I would ever want them to grow up faster.  It made me sad that she implied there was something wrong with Mini because of his empathy toward a fish.  I'm especially shocked to think that any parent would actually want their child to find it easy to kill an animal.  I admire Mini for being able to stand in the middle of his friends and teachers and other adults and refuse to do what they were all doing when it was against his nature.  Could I ask for a stronger child than that?  And that word, independent, it really sticks with me.  I've heard it several times before, and it's supposed to be this positive thing.  I wonder what it is that makes people want to make babies be independent?   Babies are the most dependent creatures on Earth!  And the only comfort they have is the people who love them.  I absolutely believe that a baby can not be spoiled or trained.  Babies that are left to cry do not learn that crying doesn't get them what they want.  Babies that are left to cry learn that the people they depend on are not there for them.  Is that what makes them independent? 

I don't think the Minions lack strength or character.  I have heard the Minions tell their friends when they think something isn't right, or if someone is doing something they feel is wrong.  They are not shy, or clingy, or scared of new experiences.  Most of the time, when we take them someplace new, be it first day of school, hockey, scouts, or any other of the myriad of first social events a child can have, they jump right in, excited for the chance, sometimes even forgetting to hug, kiss, and say good-bye to their ol' Momma.  Isn't that a sign of independence?  Isn't that a sign of a child who is comfortable with who he is, who knows that no matter what happens, there is a soft and comfortable place he can return to?  Doesn't that give a child the confidence to go out and try MORE things?  Great things?  Impossible things?

Even after all that, do we ever really grow so independent that we never really need our Mommas anymore?  I am nearly 40 years old, and there's not a day that goes by where I don't want to talk to my Momma.  There's not a problem I face without wondering what advice my Momma would give.  There's not a joy I have that I don't want to share with her.  There's not a sadness I have that I don't wish she was there to wrap me in her arms and tell me everything will be ok.  When I'm sick I want her to care for me, and when I'm having fun, I want her beside me to laugh with.  Does that make me a Momma's Girl?  Does that make me less independent?  I would like to think that, no matter how old the Minions get, they would always feel comfortable coming to their Momma with all their joys and sorrows, their triumphs and fears.  Is it a relationship built on dependence and uncertainty, or trust and love?

So does allowing Micro to use me as his sippy cup, binky, and security blanket really hinder his ability to grow into a confident person?  Is shaming Mini into doing something that is against his sensitivities really going to make him a stronger person?  Does forcing Small to sleep alone when he has regular night terrors really teach him to be a braver person?  Does comforting my babies when they are feeling alone or sad or scared, whether they are six months, or six years, or sixteen years, truly make them "Momma's Boys?"

And if the Minions are, in fact, Momma's Boys, is that really so very bad?